Gone Quantum, or It Must Be Some Kind of Zen
by Pennfana
Summary: As a result of a freak magical accident involving Gilderoy Lockhart, Snape is sent to the Discworld. Ankh-Morpork will never be the same. Featuring cabbages, orang-utans, a somewhat confused Potions Master, and NOT 1,000 elephants. (Warning: Sequel!)
1. Completely Lost Due To Incompetence

Disclaimer: Hogwarts, Gilderoy Lockhart, Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape are copyright of J. K. Rowling. I don't think I need to mention the Discworld's copyright here, since it's not even mentioned until chapter two, but since it's mentioned in the summary, I'll say right now that it's copyright of Terry Pratchett.

A/N: Beware, this is a sequel. It's fine to read on its own, but if you really want to understand who Geillis is and what she's got to do with everything, I'd encourage you to read my first story, "Sing a Song of Hogwarts".

Chapter 1

Completely Lost Due To Incompetence

It was a passably charming winter's day at Hogwarts. Most of the students had gone home for the holidays, and Severus Snape was looking forward to a relatively peaceful couple of weeks. Merlin, those students gave him a headache sometimes! It was occasionally enough to drive him to use a small amount of his best Draught of Living Death just to get a decent night's sleep.

But now, he didn't have to worry about those idiots. He could finally relax for awhile, catch up on his reading, spend a few romantic evenings with Geillis…of course, there was that business with the Chamber of Secrets, but he simply didn't want to think of that right now. For now, it was enough that the holidays had begun and he didn't have to attempt to teach anybody anything, though he would certainly not refrain from giving Geillis some hints about how her cooking could be improved…

An obnoxious voice interrupted his thoughts. _For Merlin's sake,_ thought Snape, _if only that bloody Lockhart would just shut up!_

"Ah, Severus, old boy, there you are. I've been looking all over for you."

"What is it, Lockhart?" he snarled. The expression on his face said clearly, _you shouldn't have interrupted me. This had _better _be important!_

Lockhart, as usual, was completely oblivious. "Would you happen to know what happened to my red robe? I wanted to wear it tonight at dinner. Professor Trelawney and I are going to match, you know, and that shade of red sets off my hair perfectly."

Snape's eyes, still glaring daggers at the overdressed nincompoop who had the temerity to address him with such a trivial question as a tasteless wardrobe, tipped themselves with venom. "No, I have not," he said icily. "Furthermore, if I were you, Lockhart, I would never wear any shade of red whatsoever. It clashes dreadfully with that hair of yours. I fear you would look like an unusually ugly haystack dipped in blood."

Lockhart gasped. "Who are _you_ calling ugly, Snape? No woman can resist my charm."

_And _this_ is our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?_ thought Snape. _Why does Dumbledore persist in hiring such unmitigated, unreserved, utter _idiots_ for that job?_

Outwardly, he smirked. "As I recall, Lockhart, that isn't quite true. It seems to me that Geillis Gaerwing was quite immune to your—charms."

"Ah, yes, La Reine du Froid. Well, I have my doubts regarding whether or not that one is really a woman—or at least, that she is as young as she looks. Tell me, Snape, is she as cold in bed as she is out of it?"

Snape had been losing patience with the moron all through this absurd travesty of a conversation, but this was really the last straw; Geillis was a virtuous lady, despite her temper, and Snape wasn't about to try to change that. "A gentleman never tells," he said, his voice deceptively calm, his eyes glittering angrily. By now, even Lockhart could recognize the danger signs of a Snape about to lose his temper, and began to look for an escape route. Just when it seemed that Snape was going to draw his wand—

"Ah, Severus, there you are. I've been looking all over for you."

There were few people who Lockhart despised more than Severus Snape. Geillis Gaerwing was one of them. He had found the witch to be quite attractive when he had first come to Hogwarts, but she—and that infuriating Cassiopeia Sinistra—had been among his few failed conquests. Not only that, but after he had forced a kiss on her, she had hit him so hard that his nose had been broken. Since then, he had taken to calling her names and doing other petty things, but now he could have kissed her, if he'd had proof that she wouldn't break his oh-so-perfect nose again.

Snape didn't really calm down, but he tried to make an appearance of it as Geillis stood on her tiptoes and gave him a brief kiss on the lips.

"Ah, how charming," said Lockhart snidely. "Pardon me while I vomit."

"A touch of bulimia, Gilderoy?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "I hear that repetitive retching eventually can—and will—destroy the esophagus."

"My esophagus is none of your concern, Severus," said Lockhart. "I merely wished to say that it is completely disgusting to see such a lovely creature as that kissing a serpent like you."

Geillis groaned as Snape drew his wand. "And what precisely is wrong with being a serpent?" he asked darkly.

Lockhart walked right into it. "Everything," he said, drawing his own wand.

Surreptitiously, Geillis placed a hand on her own wand underneath her simple black winter cloak. She wasn't fond of Lockhart, but if and when Severus' temper got the better of him—_again—_she would have to step in, as she had nearly done several times during the inaugural meeting of Lockhart's duelling club.

_"Expelliarmus!"_ cried Lockhart, but Snape blocked it easily with a quick _"Clipeatus!"._ The spell bounced back at Lockhart, and the results were similar to what they had been during the incident at the duelling table.

Snape was furious. The overdressed bastard had tried to use one of his own tricks against him! He was so angry that didn't pause to think of the possible consequences as he cried _"Exsilium!"_ with false calmness.

Perhaps he had been too calm, too confident, too slow. By now, Lockhart had recovered his wand and shielded himself from the expected retaliatory spell. The spell hit the shield and bounced back to Severus, who promptly disappeared, a look of horror on his face.

"Well, Professor Gaerwing, said Lockhart smugly. "Alone at last."

Geillis glared at him. "Stuff it, Lockhart, unless you want me to break your nose again. Have you any idea where he's gone?"

"What, so you can bring him back? No, Professor Gaerwing, I think not. Even if I did know, I would not tell you. Perhaps with _him_ gone, I can finally show you how wonderful I am."

"Again, Lockhart, shove it. I would have paid no attention to you even if Severus and I had remained enemies as we were when I first started to teach here. I don't like boorish, offensive fools."

She pulled her cloak more closely around her shoulders and headed back into the castle.

"Where are you going?" asked the bewildered wizard.

"Someplace where I can find some real help," she replied.

.....

How many times had she stood before this door? In the last year, she had come to Dumbledore many times when she needed advice, help or a shoulder to cry on. He had become like a second father to her in the weeks after she had told him of the circumstances surrounding the death of her husband. She hated to bother him—she knew that he was busy with preparations for Christmas—but he was the only person who she could think of who might be able to help her to bring Severus back.

After another moment's hesitation, she spoke his newest password, "gummi bears". The hidden door slid open, and she stepped in. Climbing the stairs, she came to another door, upon which she knocked softly.

"Come in," said Dumbledore. He offered her a chair and a cup of tea. She thanked him, and as they sat down, he asked, "What is bothering you, child?"

Geillis sighed. "Severus and Lockhart lost their tempers with each other again," she said. "They started to duel, and when Severus tried _'Exsilium'_ on Lockhart, the idi—er, I mean, the Defence Against The Dark Arts professor—actually managed to block it, and…um, Severus is gone." She was trying her hardest to keep from crying. It wasn't working very well.

"Hush, child," said Dumbledore, kindly. "It is possible bring him back." He gave her a pot of what looked like floo powder. "This is similar to floo powder, but it works on the ground if it has to. When you go to the spot from which he vanished, throw the powder onto the spot and say that you want to go to his general location. I say 'general' because if you say you want to go _exactly_ where he is, there is a good chance that the two of you would end up trying to occupy the same space. The matter which forms your bodies would mix, and the two of you would die most painfully." He paused. "You may wish to consider bringing some supplies with you, as the problem with general locations is that they are _general_. You could land in the same room as him, or you could simply end up on the same continent or even just on the same world."

Geillis nodded. "I assume that this could take quite some time," she said.

"Yes, it could, child," he said. "Go, now, and find him. We need him back here. Good luck, Geillis."

"Thank you," she said, and then she paused.

"Er, Headmaster, could you please find someone to feed my cats while I'm away?"

"I shall see to it myself."

Thanking him again, she opened his door and was gone.

.....

A/N: And the threatened…er, _promised,_ sequel begins. So, what do you think? Good? Bad? Somewhere in between? Anyway, I'm sorry that the humour doesn't really kick in yet, but I promise, chapter two is much funnier. =)

The story's title, "Gone Quantum, or It Must Be Some Kind of Zen" refers to a couple of lines that are common (respectively) on the Discworld MUD and in the Discworld books. In any case, I thought that it might be best to attempt a Pratchett-esque title and summary, as most of the story except for the first and last chapters take place on the Discworld.

The chapter title is the name of one of my favourite tunes from Cheech and Chong's "Up in Smoke". I may end up trying to incorporate my other favourite from that movie, "Earache My Eye", if I can only find a suitable place while I'm editing… =)

_"Clipeatus"_ is a Latin word for "shield", and _"Exsilium"_ is a word meaning "banish" or "exile".

"The matter which forms your bodies would mix, and the two of you would die most painfully." This was blatantly stolen from "Buried In Time", an old favourite puzzle game of mine. It's from an INN "interview", part of which deals with the reason why two people should not attempt to travel to the same location in time at the exact same…er…time. The exact quote is "…their matter would mix, and that would kill them."


	2. Am I Here Yet?

Disclaimer: Snape belongs to J. K. Rowling, and the Discworld and all of its associated characters belong to Terry Pratchett.

A/N: And here the fun begins. =)

.....

Chapter 2  
Am I Here Yet?

Severus Snape awoke slowly. Every bone in his body ached. He opened his eyes.

He closed them again, and blinked a few times. This couldn't be right.

This had to be Hell! Instead of snow, as he had expected, all he could see was cabbage. He was lying rather uncomfortably between two rows of the horrible stuff.

_Who would have thought that an idiot like Lockhart could do such a good job of shielding himself?_ he thought, disgusted. _On reflection, perhaps I gave him too much time to recover._

Ah, well. There would be enough time later to grumble about stupid mistakes. For now, Snape had one rather pressing problem: where in the Universe was he?

Slowly, carefully, Snape picked himself up off of the ground and retrieved his wand from the cabbage it had speared itself into. For miles around, all that could be seen was cabbage—field after field of round green cabbage. Still, off in the horizon in some direction, he saw a cloud of dust and smoke which could only mean one thing. There was a city in that direction. A very dirty city, but still a city.

Gritting his teeth, he walked towards it.

Anything_ has to be better than cabbage._

.....

If Snape had had the energy to curse, the air around him would have practically been blue. He had been walking for five hours and his feet were tired, he was thirsty, and he was sick of seeing cabbages. _If I never see another cabbage again, it will be far too soon,_ he thought grimly. But at least he seemed to be coming close to the city; he could almost see the gate as it was.

However, the city would contain enough problems of its own. He had no means of knowing what currency they used there, or any way of obtaining said currency without resorting to illegal means. He had no idea where anything was, or if this town were full of muggles, or what the political climate—often a very tricky and very important aspect of life anywhere—was like. With similar gloomy thoughts, he approached the city gate within an hour.

"Halt!"

Not wishing to get into any confrontations just yet, Snape halted.

"Who goes there?" The speaker was dressed in old Roman-style armour, complete with sandals, and carrying a short sword.

"My name is Snape," said Snape. "Severus Snape."

"What is your business in Ankh-Morpork?" asked the guard.

"I seek the University," he said, taking a chance that a city this large had at least one university.

The guard peered at him nervously. "Hey, you ain't one of them wizarding folk, is you? Only, our mum always told us to stay away from 'em."

"Yes, I am. I would be quite…displeased if you were to continue to prove an obstruction to me," said Snape, irritated at what he perceived as the guard's insolence.

"Only, you ain't short or fat or wearin' bright robes, and you ain't got a big pointy hat on," said the guard. "Couldn't be havin' with a wizard without them things."

"I have simply wished to keep my identity as a wizard a secret," he said.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but why would a wizard not want people to know what he is?"

"I was doing some secret wizard things," said Snape, shortly. "Now, let me in, or I'll turn you into a frog."

"No, that ain't wizards, that's witches—CROAK!" A frog now sat in the middle of the gate, the armour in a pile around it.

"It'll wear off in an hour or two," said Snape, putting his wand away as the frog croaked madly behind him. He stepped through the gate and into the strangely-named city of Ankh-Morpork.

.....

The name "Ankh-Morpork" was not the only odd thing about the city. Within half an hour, Snape had encountered more inept guards, including a redheaded one who had attempted to greet him by name, a vendor who had attempted to sell him a sausage or a meat pie at a price which he claimed was "cutting me own throat", a monk carrying a broom, and a pair of thieves who had demanded their yearly allotment from him, or something of the sort. The result was a pair of rats and a slightly richer Severus Snape. But the strangest thing had to be the dog at his feet.

If it could even be called a dog, that was. It was dog-shaped, all right, but it had a very disreputable look to it, for all that it was a small one. It was a mangy old mutt, and it looked as if it should have fallen apart years ago.

"Woof?" it had said, and looked up at him with big puppy-dog eyes. "Give the doggie a biscuit, that's a good man."

"WHAT?"

"It was a, wossname, figgyment of yer imagination," said the dog. "Everyone knows that dogs can't talk."

"Then, logic would naturally dictate that you would know it as well," snapped Snape.

The dog looked up at him, surprised. "You know, yer a bit too smart for a human," it said. "It takes most people awhile to realize that I ain't exactly yer average mutt."

"That doesn't answer my question, _mutt,_" he said. "Why are you speaking in something which—however vaguely it may be—resembles the Queen's English?"

"I ain't speakin' the 'Queen's English', whatever that is, mister. We ain't had a king or queen 'round here since Old Stoneface's time. _You're_ speaking perfect Morporkian."

"Again, you have not answered my question. Who are you, and why are you talking to me?"

The dog sighed. "The name's Gaspode. As for why am I talking, well, one night I goes to a warm spot beside the University, see? Right next to the kitchens. Sometimes the cook, that's Mrs Whitlow, frows me some of the leftovers from the wizards' meals. There ain't many of those, but I gets food in lots of other places, too. Anyways, one night I finds meself a good, warm spot by the chimney and curls up. Next thing I know, it's abstract thinking, colour vision, and a mouf that, against all odds, can pronounce human language as well as canine. Too much magic bouncing around the place, see? Larst time this happened, I ended up savin' the Disc from these huge wossnames from the Dungeon Dimensions. I can hardly wait to find out what happens now," he said, spitting out the last sentence.

Snape looked critically at the dog. On one hand, it was totally illogical for a dog to be able to speak a human language. They didn't have the brains or the mouth for it. On the other hand, the impossible had clearly happened, due to magic. He decided to pretend that he was not hallucinating, and ask the dog another question. "You said you ended up saving the Disc," he said slowly. "Pray, tell me—what precisely _is_ this 'Disc' of which you speak?"

The dog looked at him curiously. "Well, now, I fort you ain't from 'round here, but you ain't even heard of the Disc? Either you're from a longer way off 'n I fort, or you're really, really badly informed. That's the world we're on right now. It's a disc on the back of four huge elephants, which are carried on the back of a turtle called A'Tuin. And where d'you fink you're from?"

"I am from somewhere which makes rather more sense than this," Snape said, with a hint of his normal coldness.

"And where is that?" asked Gaspode.

Snape groaned as he realized that the wizarding world back home would sound just as ridiculous to Gaspode as the Discworld sounded to Snape himself. "Never mind," he said. "Do you think you could bring me to the University?"

"Why?" asked the dog. "You one of them wizardin' folk?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Snape, sighing.

"You sure you wanna go _there?_" asked Gaspode, looking up at him with a strangely bewildered look on his canine visage. "I've gotta warn you, it's full of nutters in there. Just las' week they was goin' crazy with this 'music with rocks in' business. The Dean made 'imself a big leather robe that had 'DEAN: BORN TO LIVE FATS DIE YO GNU' spelled on it in rivets! The Bursar's a nutcase and the Archchancellor shouts at everyone all the time and once he gets an idea into his head, it takes practically forever to get the fing back out again! Good Gods, man, you actually _want_ to go into that pandemumoninumumum?"

"That what?"

"You know, pandemumoninumumum. Means 'all demons' in Latatian. Turmoil. Trouble. Lots and lots of problems all at once."

"You mean 'pandemonium'," Snape said. "Well, if the University isn't a suitable place for me, then where else do you think I could stay until I find a way to get off of this…Disc…and back to where I came from?"

Gaspode considered it. "Well, you're dressed all in black, so maybe the Assassins' Guild might take you in—"

Snape wheeled around and faced the dog with every sign of his infamous temper beginning to show. "Listen, you mangy little fleabag, that was _not_ amusing. I'm lost here. I need a place to stay for the night. I'm a stranger. And you say that an appropriate place for me is a place where I would very likely get _killed?_" He paused, his face growing even angrier, if that were even possible. "Or is it that you think I have so few morals as to be able to pass for someone who kills for money?"

Gaspode quailed at the sight of the enraged Snape. "No, no, sir, no offence meant, really, just that they're an awfully, you know, suffis—phosyst—um, they're well-dressed, well-educated, and real high-class people, even if they _does_ get paid for what they call 'inhuming' people."

Snape, barely pacified, snapped, "Well, I think I'm going to take my chances with the inept wizards. Show me the way to the University, Gaspode."

Gaspode padded along the road which would take them to Unseen University, grumbling all the way about ungrateful wizards.[1]

.....

The sky, already grey, had darkened further as Snape and Gaspode wandered the streets of Ankh-Morpork. Now, the clouds let loose their watery burden, and both man and dog were getting absolutely drenched. Gaspode, who hadn't smelled very nice in the first place, now began to positively reek. Snape would have made a sarcastic comment about this, but that would have necessitated the opening of his mouth and tasting the foul odour.  
  
_So this is __Unseen__University__,_ he mused as he and Gaspode approached the huge door to the Great Hall. The University certainly _looked_ impressive enough, even if the wizards here were idiots. _They can't possibly be as bad as Lockhart,_ he thought. Still, he wasn't looking forward to meeting them. As he well knew, there was nothing worse than an enthusiastic idiot.

_"Et maintenant, le deluge,"_ he murmured. Several portly figures came down the staircase, and he wondered snidely how most of them had managed to get _up_ the staircases in the first place. All of them were as badly-dressed as Lockhart at a party, and almost all of them were so round that they could likely have just as easily rolled down the stairs as walked down them. The one at the front had an especially offensive hat, being covered with such apparatus as even Severus had never seen before.

"Bur-SAAR!" he shouted, and the one wizard who you could likely lose sight of if you tried to look at him from the side rushed to the front of the group. "Foot the camel and eat the spoon. Blivet?"

The first wizard sighed. "I'm going to take that as a 'Yes, Archchancellor?', Bursar. Now, I want you to look very carefully at this man. Have you ever seen him before?"

"Whoops, there goes the butter."

"Dean? Could you distinguish any sort of meaning whatsoever from what the Bursar has just said?"

"No, Archchancellor," said the fattest member of the group, a rather elderly man with an especially tasteless hat.

The Archchancellor sighed. "Better give him some dried frog pills, then," he said. "Where's Stibbons when you need him? I say, what are you doing here, anyway?" he asked, turning to Snape.

"I'm a wizard," said Snape, aware of how silly this sounded, especially given his odd surroundings. "I'm rather lost, and I need a place to stay for the night. Hearing that there is a rather fine university for wizards around here—" and here Gaspode started to snigger—"I thought that you might be willing to help a colleague who is in trouble."

The Archchancellor looked closely at him. "You don't look much like one of us," he said. "No colour to your robes, no pointy wizard's hat, no staff, and scrawny as the Bursar here. And you claim to be a wizard?"

"I was not aware that these things were required of a wizard," said Snape coolly. "If you like, I could transform one of you into a bat as proof. It appears that all of you are rather batty anyway."

"Oook!"

"What the hell was _that?_"

A rather large orang-utan muscled its way to the front of the group. "Oook! Ook ook ooka ooka ook eek!" it said.

"Er, I think he said, 'welcome to Unseen University. If you try to turn me back into a human, I'll rip your arms off.' Of course, I could be wrong," said the Archchancellor, as he noticed the strange expression coming over Snape's face. He could be rather thick at times, but even he realized that this strange man was nobody to trifle with. "By the way, I'm Mustrum Ridcully, the Archchancellor of this fine institution. This here's the Dean, that's the Senior Wrangler—don't ask, it's a long story—and this is the Lecturer in Recent Runes. You've already encountered the Bursar; he'll be all right as soon as the dried frog pills kick in. Poor fellow has some sort of nervous complaint. I can't imagine why. Probably spends too much time in that office of his—that's why I shout at him and play practical jokes and the like. Keeps his head from fogging up. Anyway, usually we've got another man about here, the Reader in Invisible Writings—name's Ponder Stibbons. Right now, though, he's up in Lancre checking out the stone circle and stuff. Oh, and the orang-utan is the Librarian. If you know what's good for you, you'll never mention the m-word in front of him."

"What 'm-word'?"

Ridcully groaned. "Don't ask. It has something to do with other creatures of a simian nature. And don't you ever, ever, _ever_ say it in front of him."

Snape, rather wisely, let the matter drop. "My name is Snape," he said. "Severus Snape. Most people just call me Snape."

Ridcully nodded. "Ah, friendly chap, are you? Like to keep people at their ease?"

"Not precisely, Archchancellor," he said. "However, it is nearly the name by which I am best known, and I would appreciate it if you would address me as such."

"_Nearly_ the name?" asked Ridcully, confused.

"I believe that among my students I am better known as 'That Greasy Git', but I would much prefer that you simply call me 'Snape'."

"Ah. Well, Snape, let's see what we can do for you—and your dog, of course—for supper. That _is_ a dog, isn't it?"

"Of _course_ it's a dog! However, he is not mine. He…followed me here," said Snape, as Gaspode gave Ridcully a disgusted look.

"Ah, all right, then. We'll get him a decent meal, and then find a room somewhere for you."

"That would be much appreciated, Archchancellor," said Snape, trying to be calm. It wasn't easy. Ridcully was beginning to get on his nerves already, and he had known the man for all of five minutes. "But won't an extra place at the table be an inconvenience to you?"

"No, not at all," said Ridcully, with a genial expression on his face. "There's always plenty served at the Unseen University table. You'll not go hungry here."

_Oh, yes, I might— if we don't get going soon._

The wizards made their way to the dining hall, and Snape trailed behind them, black robes billowing slightly. The effect was rather spoiled by the fact that they were still damp from being rained on.

Behind him, Gaspode snickered.

* * *

[1] Very quietly, though, so the ungrateful wizard behind him wouldn't hear.

.....

A/N: Well, how's this so far? I haven't quite got Pratchett's style down, but I hope that some of the humour at least managed to make up for some of that.

Anyway, the title of the chapter is the name of a song by Billie Myers. I just thought that it went well with the content. You know, "Where am I?" and all that.

Whatever.

For those not well-versed in the Discworld books, the red-haired guard who attempts to call Snape by name is Carrot Ironfoundersson, the Ankh-Morpork City Watch's most dedicated (and naïve) policeman. The sausage vendor is Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, who sells sausages and meat pies made of "genuine pork product" and occasionally gets into a business venture that goes belly-up through no fault of his own.

"Old Stoneface" Vimes, another Pratchett creation, is an ancestor of Sam Vimes, the Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. He executed the last king of Ankh-Morpork.

The bit about "Music With Rocks In" refers to Pratchett's "Soul Music".

Yes, the Bursar really is that insane. Worse, in fact.

Finally, a couple of non-Discworld references. First of all, as I learned in a class on literature in Renaissance England, "pandemonium" literally means "all demons" in Latin.

Also, there's "As he well knew, there was nothing worse than an enthusiastic idiot". This is a paraphrase of something said in my OAC English class three years ago. (OAC is the now-defunct fifth year of high school that Ontario used to have until it was phased out in a process that ended last year.) The teacher, called Mrs. Mantha-McConnell, was talking to one of my classmates before the class of the day was supposed to begin, and as a reply to a remark made by the student, she said "There's nothing worse than an enthusiastic idiot". I don't know why, but that phrase has stayed with me, and it kind of just happened on the screen when I had Snape thinking about what was likely to happen at Unseen University.


	3. Mission: Impossible

Disclaimer: This is just a bit of fun. I am making no money from this. The Discworld and its related characters all belong to Terry Pratchett. (Since this story's in the Harry Potter section and I've made up spells similar to the ones found in those books, I suppose I should also point out that anything created by J. K. Rowling belongs to her and not me.)

A/N: I should warn you that there won't be much humour in this chapter; I had to set a few things up for later, though, and when I tried to inject a little humour in here it seemed rather strained.

Chapter 3

Mission: Impossible

There should have been a buzzing feeling humming through her skin. There should have been a light so bright that she had to close her eyes because of its strength. There should have been chaos and noise and swirling colours enough to make a person nauseous. What there in fact _was_, was a bit of a blur and a sudden impact.

Her last thought before the world went black was _Isn't this disappointing?_

. . . . . . . . .

Geillis awoke, and promptly wished she hadn't. She felt as if she'd been trampled by a troll. _I didn't exactly think that the trip would be little more than a tickle or something, but I didn't think it would hurt this much. Merlin, after I find Severus, I may never want to go back to Hogwarts. Remind me never to go cross-dimensional travelling ever again unless they somehow manage to improve the landing process._

_ William Blake was right. To generalize _is_ to be an idiot. How the hell am I going to find Severus?_

Groaning, she let her head fall back to the ground. She'd sleep for awhile, and hopefully by the time she woke, her body wouldn't rebel so much at the merest suggestion of movement.

. . . . . . . . .

She was awakened by the sensation of something poking into her ribs. "Esme?" said a voice, sounding slightly worried.

"Wstflgl," said Geillis, turning over slightly.

There was a slightly shocked pause, and then the voice said, "Bloody hell. You ain't Esme."

"Er, no," said Geillis. "Whoever she is, unless something's badly wrong, I am definitely not Esme. My name's Gaerwing—Geillis Gaerwing. And who the hell are you?"

The other woman pursed her lips. "My name's Gytha Ogg, girl, but most people call me 'Nanny' or 'Mrs Ogg'. And p'raps you should explain to me why you're dressed like a witch, 'cos you sure ain't one yourself; I know all the witches in Lancre, and you ain't from around here."

Geillis suppressed the urge to groan as she gingerly sat up. "I'm from a long way off," she said.

The other witch raised an eyebrow. "How far?" she asked, sceptically.

"Farther than you're ever likely to have gone, madam," said Geillis dryly.

The other woman's face went hard. "I don't know about that, miss, 'cos I've been pretty far in my life. Now, why don't you tell me how far you've come from?"

Geillis sighed. "I'm afraid I don't really know, Mrs Ogg. For all I know, I've jumped here from an alternate universe. All I know is that a very good friend of mine got sent here somehow, and I've got to bring him back home."

"Cor," said the other witch, her face growing momentarily puzzled as she took all of this in.

"But wait a minute," she finally said. "I ain't sure you're a witch. How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"Believe it or not, Mrs Ogg, I _am_ a witch. Here, I'll prove it." Geillis stared at the other witch's hat. Without saying a word she waved her wand and the hat exploded.

"My hat! Now see here, girl, that hat cost me twelve dollars, and this is the second time this year that someone's done this to me. That's twenty-four whole dollars, gone with the flick of a wrist—"

"Please, Mrs Ogg, wait a moment," Geillis said. She took out her wand, made a flick and circular motion, and said, _"Capello reparo"_. The hat jumped back into its original shape, as if it had never exploded.

The older witch took her hat off her head and examined it carefully. When she was done, she said, "Well, Miss, I still ain't sure where you comes from, why you're here, or even if what you just did is proper witchery. But I knows another witch—strange as she may be—when I sees her. Welcome to Lancre. Now, let's see what Esme says about you."

. . . . . . . . .

They walked along a dirt path, up a hill and around to a cottage that didn't look so much like it had been built as it had grown—the thatch was so old that it was sporting some very young trees. There was a sign which said, "Caution—Herb Crossing", and the leaves of the willow tree swayed gently in the breeze.

But there _was,_ in fact, no breeze.

With a mutter of "I hope she's not out Borrowing," Nanny knocked on the door.

"Borrowing?" asked Geillis.

"Borrowing the minds of animals," Nanny explained. "I've never been much good at it meself. I was a rabbit for three days once before she came and fetched me back. Lucky she did that—if she hadn't, I reckon I never would've been back. I'd have been stuck as a rabbit for the rest of my life—if I still existed."

Geillis nodded, and the door swung open.

"Esme" turned out to be another elderly woman, tall and thin, with a nose that even Severus might envy. She wore her hair in a tight bun at the base of her neck, and her pointy black hat was pinned to her head with numerous hatpins. _Note to myself,_ thought Geillis. _Never, ever, _ever_ get on this woman's bad side._

Not that she looked as if she had any other kind.

"Wotcha, Esme," said Nanny. "This here's Geillis Gaerwing, a witch from a long way off. I found her lying on the ground not far from here—thought she was you."

Granny Weatherwax looked at Geillis with a piercing azure stare. Now Geillis knew what it was like to have her soul read; as hard as it was, she kept herself from blinking or looking away. Finally, Granny nodded. "How far off are you from?" she asked, softly.

Geillis had heard this tone from Severus many times before their friendship had begun. It was _not_ friendly. "I'm not exactly sure," she said calmly. "It could be another world or another universe entirely. All I know is that I'm here and I have to find a friend of mine, who was sent here in the course of a magical accident."

Granny raised an eyebrow. "An accident?"

Geillis sighed. "He's a wizard. He and another wizard were duelling, and when Severus—my friend—sent a banishing spell the other wizard's way, the other wizard blocked it and sent Severus somewhere over here. With the help of a friend I cast a spell which allowed me to follow him into the general area where he landed, but general locations being general, I have no idea where the hell he is. He could be anywhere on this world. All I know for sure is that I'm here and he isn't. Oh, and that I have a bloody huge headache from my landing. You wouldn't happen to have anything that might help me, would you?"

A slight smile crossed Granny's face. "Well, I got some suckrose and akwa around here somewhere…"

Geillis gave her a puzzled look. "Sugar and water? What would I want that for?"

"Well, mostly I use it for foolin' people that needs it. Welcome to Lancre. You need a place to stay?"

What was Geillis to say to that? After a moment, she settled for "Actually, yes, please, that might be nice."

"There's a cottage nearby what needs somebody in it. Last one was an old fairy godmother called Desiderata Hollow, maysherestinpeace. The decorations are a bit odd, but I reckon you'd feel right home in there."

"How's that?"

"You're a bookish sort. Not many others'd know what suckrose and akwa are. Actually, I'd have tole you about Magrat's old cottage, but there's a wizard livin' in there right now, studyin' the stone circle an' whatnot. Name's Ponder Stibbons. You're bound to see him sometime."

. . . . . . . . .

Geillis stepped through the doorway of the cottage and took out her wand. "_Lumos,_" she said, and a light appeared at the tip.

"Cor," said Nanny Ogg. "How'd you do that?"

"Just something I learned in my student days," Geillis replied. "Where I come from, witches and wizards learn to do that sort of thing. And the wizards aren't usually as daft as you say the ones from Unseen University are—well, most of them aren't, anyway—"

"There are exceptions?"

"Oh, yes. There's a famous author by the name of Gilderoy Lockhart. He appears to have gotten by simply on lies and his face; many women have such astonishingly poor taste that believe his looks are uncommonly good. I have the misfortune of being one of his teaching colleagues—actually, he's the one whose spell sent Severus away. I had to go into his office one afternoon to deliver a message, and you wouldn't believe what I saw."

"Really?" Nanny leered.

"No, nothing like that, Gytha," Geillis laughed. "I simply meant to say that except for a very small bookshelf which merely held his complete published works, every space that wasn't covered in pictures of him was covered in mirrors."

"Even the ceiling?"

"I didn't dare look."

"Ah, sounds sensible. Anyway, what else d'you do with them wand things?"

"Well, you saw me fix your hat—sorry about that, by the way; it's usually the quickest way I have to convince people in a hurry that I am who I say I am—and there are plenty of other spells that we do with these. They say that the four founders of the school where I teach built the castle—the school building is a castle—in a fairly short time using the power of their wands."

Nanny nodded. "I reckon it comes in handy at times," she said, "what with that forest you was talkin' about." After Granny had given her a _real_ headache remedy, she and Nanny had insisted that Geillis tell them about Hogwarts and what life was like there.

"Now, Geillis, let's have a look around."

Desiderata Hollow had been a rather odd woman; Geillis could see this right away. There were few people even in this world who would mix a fair-sized library (for a Ramtops witch) with stuffed animal heads, a display of foreign weapons, a spear in the umbrella stand, and watercolour pictures.

"A bit eccentric, was she?" asked Geillis. "Oh, my—what happened to this mirror?" she asked, seeing the fragments on the floor in front of her.

"Esme smashed it last year," said Nanny. "Never tole me why, but I reckon it was because of her sister, who used mirrors to spy on people. Shouldn't be any danger now, though—Lily Weatherwax is dead, or at least something like it."

Geillis was intrigued by the oddness of this comment, but decided it would be better not to ask, thinking it was better to say "I take it that they weren't exactly close?"

"Downright hated each other, they always did—I remember when we was all gels, and Lily and Esme used to be at it hammer and tongs all the time. Lily always had plenty of friends, though. Made 'em from animals—snakes, toads, cats, you know."

"Sounds like she was pretty good at transfiguration, then." Geillis pointed her wand at the empty mirror frame and said, "_Specchio reparo_." The glass jumped back into the frame, welded together as if it had never been broken.

"You know," Nanny said, "You're going to have to teach me a few of those. Do all the witches use 'em where you're from?"

"Well, most," Geillis admitted. "What do witches 'round _here_ do?"

"It's mostly headology," Nanny told her. "Some magic, like the brooms—you've got a real nice one, I notice. If you're into healing, there's some o' that, too; it's normal village witchery. If you ain't real fond of it, then just give 'em a bottle of flavoured water an' tell 'em they're to take it twice a day 'till the problem's gone. Most people'll think 'emselves 'ealthy again. If it's serious, though, send 'em up to Magrat at the castle. She's Queen, now, but she ain't above a bit of witchery if you arsk nicely. Unless you're Esme, of course. Then she expects to be tole."

"Er, thanks for the advice," said Geillis. "Well, I think I'll set about making this place liveable again. Thanks for your help, Gytha."

"No problem," said Nanny. "By the way, you one of 'em fairy godmothers?"

"No," said Geillis. "Why do you ask?"

"It's only, you've got that wand," Nanny replied. "Witches 'round here gen'rally don't use 'em unless they're fairy godmothers."

"Back home, witches and wizards usually _do_ use them," Geillis explained. "They help us to focus the magic that we use."

"Cor," said Nanny. "Well, I'll be off, then. Ask me if you need anything."

Geillis smiled. "I will. Thank you very much."

When Nanny Ogg had gone, Geillis turned to the cottage.

If she were going to live here, even if it were only for a few weeks, she had a lot of work to do.

. . . . . . . . .

A/N: Well, here we are again. =) Thanks to bookofdays, chickens and excessivelyperky for reviewing. And chickens, I would indeed recommend that you read some of the Discworld books. They're hilarious, and Pratchett somehow always manages to stick a point in there somewhere between the jokes.

P.S. excessivelyperky: I could well imagine Molly Weasley as an Ogg, and I look forward to reading "Widow's Walk". =)

The chapter title is of course the name of a movie (or perhaps two, considering that it was re-made a few years ago). I rather like the theme song, but I've never actually seen the movie.

The reference to William Blake comes from his "Annotations to Reynolds' _Discourses_". I heartily recommend reading it if you possibly can; Blake certainly had a talent for well-aimed zingers, and it shows through wonderfully in "Annotations". Besides, I find his ideas on the criticism of art to be quite interesting.

The "maysherestinpeace" isn't a typo. Pratchett has Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg say it several times when somebody refers to a deceased witch.

_"Capello"_ is an Italian word meaning "hat", and _"specchio"_ means "mirror". I don't really have access to a good Latin dictionary (the one I do occasionally consult didn't have either of the words I was looking for), so I used my rather limited knowledge of Italian instead.

By the way, the description of Desiderata's cottage is a modified version of its description in "Witches Abroad"—which, by the way, happens to be the first Discworld book I ever read.

Finally, I apologize for the fact that Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg seem a bit out of character. I've been reading the Discworld books since I was about thirteen, but when I wrote this chapter I hadn't quite figured out how to get into the mindset of the various Discworld characters. It gets better later on—or at least I _think_ it does, anyway.


	4. Up An' Adam

Disclaimer: Who in their right mind would confuse _me_ for Terry Pratchett or J.K. Rowling?

Chapter 4

Up An' Adam

It was evening now in Ankh-Morpork, and naturally the University was busy. It always was around suppertime. Snape felt a pang of homesickness when he realized that the heavy table at Unseen University reminded him very much of the banquets at Hogwarts.

He sighed. There had to be _some_ way to get back. After all, that idiot Lockhart had sent him here, hadn't he?

Well, sort of, anyway.

Across the table, Ridcully looked curiously over at the strange wizard. "You haven't told us much about yourself, Snape. What exactly _do_ you do?" he asked.

Snape smirked. "I teach Potions to young witches and wizards, and quite frankly, almost all of them are idiots. However, I do have a favourite speech that I recite every year when I start with the first-year students."

"Capital! Lowercase!"

Ridcully groaned. "Is there anyone about who could interpret for me, gentlemen?"

"I believe that he asked Snape to recite the speech," said the Dean.

Snape smirked again. "Why, certainly," he said, and drew his black robes about him as he stood and prepared to recite his speech. His face grew more forbidding, if that were even possible, and his voice grew colder and harsher. He swept up to the front of the room as if he thought he were a bat.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

"Well done! Er…but doesn't it scare the students?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Of course it does! That's the bloody _point!_ What do you think I should say? 'Well, sure, I _could_ teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and stopper death—but wouldn't you rather learn how to brew beer instead?'"

"Well, the idea has its—_ouch!_" exclaimed the Lecturer in Recent Runes as the Dean indelicately elbowed him in the ribs.

"Wouldn't it be easy to stopper death, anyway?" asked Ridcully. "I mean, all you'd have to do is get some poison, and Bob's your uncle."

Snape glared at him. "First of all, poisons generally have antidotes. Deadly potions, on the other hand, work almost instantaneously. Second, I have no uncles at all, much less an uncle named 'Bob'. Both of my parents were only children."

"Only children?" said the Dean. "How could they—_OW, BUGGRIT!_" he exclaimed, as the Lecturer in Recent Runes elbowed him in the ribs and stomped heavily on his foot as only an Unseen University wizard can—partly in retaliation, it must be said, for the earlier elbowing.

"I meant that neither of them had any siblings," Snape snapped.

"Oh," said the Dean, rubbing his side gingerly. "You might have said."

. . . . . . . . .

The next day, Snape wandered down into the Great Hall, only to find that breakfast had not yet been set out. _I never realized how inconvenient things can be without house elves,_ he thought, slightly annoyed. _Right now I might even settle for that jabbering Dobby of Lucius', as irritating as he is._

Grumbling slightly about the lack of food—he could be even nastier than usual, if that were even possible, on an empty stomach—he decided to find the library. They had a Librarian, after all; they _had_ to have a library, right? Even a university full of what he considered to be hopeless incompetents had to have a decent library; otherwise, there would be no use in calling it a university. It would just be a collection of buildings.

The biggest problem was that here, logic had clearly taken a very long holiday.

"You goin' somewhere, Snape?" asked Gaspode, trotting up to him as he left the main building.

"The library," he growled in return. "Haven't you got a cat to be chasing, or something of the sort?"

Gaspode was about to give a retort, but seeing the look on the man's face, he bit it back. "Er, yes," he said. "I'll be seeing you later, then."

Snape smirked as he saw the dog padding off in the other direction. Then, he scowled. _It's a sad day when I'm proud of scaring off a dog!_ he thought.

Pushing through the library doors, he was immediately met with the sight of the Librarian re-shelving some books left lying around by some careless students. Immediately, the Librarian said, "OOOK! Ook eek ook!" and pointed to a sign.

"For goodness' sake, I don't understand monkey talk," said Snape, disgustedly.

The effect was instantaneous. The Librarian bared his teeth and launched himself at Snape, attempting to bang his head against the somewhat worn definitions of "Monkey" and "Orang-utan" on the desk.

However, Snape was too quick for him. He whipped out his wand, pointed it at the Librarian, and shouted _"Immobilis!"_ The enraged Librarian was stopped in his tracks.

And just to make his point, Snape muttered _"Homo sapiens"_, changing the ape into a man.

"Don't call me a monkey!" shouted the Librarian, unaware that this was the first time in years that he had spoken any word except assorted _ooks_ and _eeks._

"I will not, now, as the word is particularly inappropriate at this moment," was Snape's cool reply.

"You can understand me?" asked the Librarian, uncertainly. Something had gone very wrong.

"Of course I can, you dolt. Take a good look at yourself."

The Librarian looked down. Pear-shaped body, sure, but his toes were too short, and—

"AAAUGH!" He had no hair! The bastard had returned him to his original form!

When the Librarian had finally calmed down, he realized something very important.

"Er, Snape, do you think you could possibly hand me my bathrobe? It's on the desk there." The Librarian's voice was unnaturally quiet.

Smirking, Snape replied, "I'm afraid not, old boy. However, I _can_ turn you back into an orang-utan."

"Will you, then? I think you've made your point, and I have work to do. But how did you do that without knowing my name?"

"It is not necessary with the kind of magic that I use."

"Ah, I see. But are you absolutely _certain_ that you can change me back?"

"Of _course_ I can," growled Snape. "I'm a Potions teacher. Many of the potions which I am required to teach to those knuckleheaded students of mine are quite poisonous if not brewed correctly, and I often have to have them test their work. Therefore, I keep a large number of antidotes ready—and I always make certain that I have done nothing that cannot be undone."

"Er, yes, of course," said the Librarian, drawing back a bit. "Um, do you think you could do it now, then? I'm a very busy ape."

"Certainly," said Snape, and with a muttered _Pongo__Pygmaeus_, the Librarian was back in his usual state.

"Ook," he said contentedly, and returned to his work.

. . . . . . . . .

After the scene in the Library, Snape decided that his time would be better spent in walking around Ankh-Morpork to get a feeling for the geography. Snape had many faults, but one of the more useful ones was that he was somewhat paranoid. He hated being in a new city without knowing its nooks and crannies, all the places where one of the Dark Lord's minions could surprise him. He had carefully cultivated a friendship with Lucius Malfoy, which had been an advantage even in his days as a dedicated Death Eater, and he kept up his image as a frightening, hateful downright bastard in case Voldemort rose again. He would never admit it to anyone, even Geillis, but he sometimes wondered what it was like to wear colours other than black and grey. Perhaps a nice robe of green and silver, good old Slytherin colours…

He shook his head. Not while the Dark Lord still existed, even in his weakened form. The slightest deviation from his normal behaviour would attract suspicion.

"Oi! Snape! Didn't expect to see you up and about so early."

Snape muttered something rude under his breath. Then, "Good morning, Archchancellor." His tone made it clear that he wasn't precisely sure what a _good_ morning was supposed to be, but that it did not include being shouted at by wizards dressed in what looked suspiciously like a track suit.

"'Morning, Snape. Please call me 'Mustrum', by the way. I suppose you're going down to the Hall for an early breakfast? I always do, and I'm out for a jog just after."

"Ah, yes. That would explain those rather odd robes you're wearing. But no, actually I'm off for a bit of a walk around the city; I'm afraid that I didn't get to see very much of it yesterday, being weary and hungry and all of those normal traveller things."

"Oh, good show! Mind you stay away from the Assassins' Guild, though. They're a bit ornery."

"I suppose I should fit right in if I felt the need to enter," Snape retorted.

Ridcully decided that it would be best not to comment. Instead, he and Snape walked in silence down to the Great Hall. On the way, they met a rather peculiar figure.

It was barely recognizable as being a man. However, it wasn't a mon—an orang-utan, and it was wearing a tattered red robe and a hat which boasted tarnished sequins. Here and there, one or two gave a half-hearted glitter as a remembrance of past glories. The hat had "Wizzard" embroidered on it by someone whose incompetence in spelling was only surpassed by his lack of skill with a needle.

"Who the hell are you?" asked Snape.

The man looked as if he were going to answer—and then, he saw who had asked him the question. He looked up, screamed, and ran away.

"Well, Snape, that was certainly an interesting reaction, eh?" said Ridcully.

"Not exactly," smirked Snape. "I used to get it all the time from one of my students, by the name of Neville Longbottom."

"You must've been a hell of a teacher," Ridcully gulped.

"Indeed, Mustrum, indeed—with extra emphasis on the word 'hell'." He paused. "Who _was_ that 'wizzard', anyway? And why does he think he has to write 'wizard' on his hat with two z's?"

"Oh, that was Rincewind. Nobody around here knows his first name, or if he even _has_ one. He's our Egregious Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography. When the last one was apparently eaten by a large lizard, we thought that Rincewind would be a good replacement, since he's seen so _much_ geography. Admittedly, he's seen it mostly as a blur, since as you've seen he runs very well, but he's seen it anyway."

"And the misspelling of 'wizard'?"

"Well, he never technically graduated from the University. He only knows one spell, and he can't use that one as it was one of the Eight Great Spells used in the creation of this world. Filled up his brain so there's no room for any more. We let him wear the hat, but he feels that he has to write 'wizzard' on it just to get his point across, pardon the pun—the two z's are just because he can't spell."

Snape nodded. "Ah, I see. He's a squib, then. I've seen a few in my time."

"Squid? Gods, no—he hasn't got any tentacles, and I'm damn sure he doesn't squirt ink at you anytime he's afraid."

Snape actually chuckled at that. "No, Mustrum, a squib is someone with no magical ability whatsoever. You find them sometimes in wizarding families back home. Well, I'll be off, now."

"Enjoy your walk, Snape."

. . . . . . . . .

A/N: Sorry about the long wait for an update; this chapter was originally much longer, but I decided that the details of Snape's walk would be better left until the next chapter for various reasons. (Namely, (1) I think I might have overdone it with the silliness, so the walk needed some Major Editing, and (2) Ridcully's "Enjoy your walk, Snape" seemed to be a better place to leave off anyway.)

"Up An' Adam" is the name of one of my all-time favourite bagpipe tunes. It was written by Murray Blair, and perhaps its most famous recording was on the Victoria Police Pipe Band's album "Masterblasters". A MIDI file of it can be found at http:www. bagpipesatbest. com, under "U". It's the eighth one down.

I'm sure I don't have to explain the source of Snape's speech. Let's just say that it's one of my favourite Snape-related moments in "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone", since it goes from something like poetry to a somewhat inelegant insult—or as one of my teachers likes to say, "from the sublime to the ridiculous".

I should also point out that the "brew beer instead" bit comes from the "Snape Wouldn't Say" section of "Snape's Chambers" (http:www. snapechamber. freeservers. com/), and was contributed by "The Empress of Commas—Lisa Ann". The original form is "Well, sure. I _could_ teach you how to stopper death. But wouldn't you rather learn how to brew beer instead?"

From my understanding of the Librarian, he really _would_ react that way to being called a monkey.

Yes, I'm lazy. Snape's incantations for the transformation of the Librarian from an orang-utan to a human and back again are just the Latin names of the species in question. To the best of my knowledge, Rowling never gives any indication of how a witch or wizard would go about transforming a human into an animal (or the other way around, for that matter), though she does indicate that it's possible; in one of the books—I can't remember which one—Harry hears Professor McGonagall chewing out another student for turning someone into a badger.

As an additional note to the Librarian's transformation—Pratchett states that he was originally a human, but as a result of a magical accident he was changed into an orang-utan and has resisted any attempts to change him back.

The bit with Rincewind was actually one of the first scenes that I wrote when I began the story. There are several other of these "random scenes" scattered throughout the story, put in whatever place they seemed to best fit. Depending on whether or not I feel like it, I may point the others out. Originally Rincewind exited the scene by means of a blackout, but I decided that running away would probably be more believable. He hasn't survived everything that's been thrown at him by fainting, after all. In addition, the original end of the scene was Snape smirking and saying that thing about "extra emphasis on the word 'hell'".


	5. Severus Snape's Welcome

Disclaimer: Terry Pratchett owns the Discworld, J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter etc., and I own a rather nice binder full of paper which allows me to write ridiculous fan fiction using their characters and locations.

A/N: Sorry about the long wait. Nothing of mine's been abandoned; it's just that I decided to take a rather lengthy break from writing because, quite frankly, for various reasons I was running out of ambition. Furthermore, as I don't have a beta reader I tend to do all of my editing myself, and when I edit anything—mine or someone else's—I always rip it to shreds before putting it back together.

In any case, this chapter gave me rather more trouble than most, but updates should hopefully be a bit more regular now. Everything's already written; it's just a case of editing it and posting.

Chapter Five

Severus Snape's Welcome to the City of Ankh-Morpork

'_Enjoy' my walk?_ The word was rather out of place where Snape was concerned, but as he walked he thought that Ankh-Morpork wasn't such a miserable place after all, if it had people who were as irritable as Snape himself. There was nothing like a snarky comment or two to keep the brain sharp.

"I thought that vampires couldn't go out in the sunlight."

Snape turned around and looked at the patchwork man behind him. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean, it's just that you've got that skin and hair, you dress in black, you move like a bat—you must be a vampire, right? So why not join the Fresh Start Club, where death is where your life begins!"

"I am _not_ a vampire!"

Reg Shoe looked at him and quietly backed away. "Yeah, sure, mister," he said, and ran—well, staggered—off.

"Bizarre man," murmured Snape.

Snape spun around as he heard a now-familiar snigger by his ankles. "I always gets the urge to frow 'im in a hole," chuckled Gaspode.

"Shouldn't you be chasing cats or something?" asked Snape irritably.

"Nope," said Gaspode, cheerful. "Filled my Dogs' Guild quota for that already this week."

Snape stared at his companion. "There's a _Dogs' Guild_ here?"

Gaspode stared right back. "There's a Guild for pretty much everyone here," he explained. "Dogs, Thieves, Assassins, Beggars, Musicians, and—heh—Seamstresses…everyone's got a Guild, sooner or later."

"What, pray, is the purpose of Guilds for thieves and assassins?" asked Snape, curious.

"Crime control," said Gaspode simply. "They comes down real heavy on people what gets caught stealin' wif no licence." He indicated the formerly animate weathervane on top of the Thieves' Guild house. "They takes some money every year. O' course, it's not usually at a time the victim expects—these _are _thieves, after all—and they always writes a receipt so nobody gets stolen from twice in a year."

Snape nodded. "That explains the two rats I met upon entering the city. Of course, I expect they're human again by now."

Gaspode gasped. "Bad idea, mister. There'll be an Assassins' Guild contract on you before night," he yelped. "You sure you want to be out here?"

"If I am to find some way back home, yes," Snape snapped. "Where would be a good place to start?"

"I ain't sure, Snape, but I can show you around a bit."

"Then do," growled the wizard, impatient with his companion.

Eyes watched the greasy man in black as he and the little grey mutt walked past the Thieves' Guild. So _this_ was the man who had done it…he had gotten away with far too much. It was time for some…Professional Help.

"This is the Street of Small Gods," Gaspode said. "Gods of all kinds have temples here—there are temples to Hat, Pishe, Fish, Offler, Om and Gufnork on this part of the street. If you need help you ain't found at Unseen, this is prolly your best bet."

Snape stared at the temples until he picked out the most imposing one. "Which one is this?" he asked, indicating the temple of Gufnork.

Gaspode whimpered, thinking about the last time he entered that building. "That's the temple of…" he gulped. "Gufnork."

Snape nodded approvingly. "A God with such an ugly name must certainly be a stern, powerful patriarch. I believe that I shall try this one."

Gaspode cringed. This would _not_ be easy to explain. "But don't you want to know what he's the God _of?_"

Snape snorted. "Nonsense! It's clear that he's got a large number of followers—look at the size of the temple! If belief is as powerful here as I have been told, then there _must_ be a large power base to work from."

"Yes, but—"

"_Silence!_ I _will_ investigate this place of worship!" And with that, he strode over to the door to the side chapel.

And was immediately rewarded for his trouble by being nearly submerged in a sea of fluff.

Coughing and sputtering, Snape and Gaspode waded through the mess and made their way to the High Altar. By now infuriated with the fluffy heap, Snape cast _sonorous_ on himself and bellowed,

**"SEVERUS P. SNAPE, GUEST OF ****UNSEEN****UNIVERSITY****, REQUESTS YOUR AID AND DEMANDS THAT YOU CLEAN UP THIS MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A ****TEMPLE**** IMMEDIATELY! IS _THIS_ ANY WAY TO SHOW PROPER RESPECT TO YOUR GOD?"**

"It is when he's the God of Fluff," said the High Priest, leaning in the doorway to the cloister and smirking a smirk worthy of Snape himself.

"Not to be persumshus, Snape, but maybe you could've handled that a bit better," Gaspode said as he trotted at Snape's side some time later.

"It's _presumptuous,_ mutt, and Severus Snape does _not_ tolerate cheek from idiotic Godbotherers," snarled the irate Potions Master.

"Yes, but did you _really_ have to—"

"I will _not_ be spoken to as if I were one of my dunderheaded students," Snape growled.

"But did you need to—"

"He deserved it. It's not like he needed them, anyway. Priests are notorious for it."

"Fine, fine, all I'm saying is that I ain't sure if it was necessary for you to remove his—"

Snape whirled around to face the dog. "Look, Gaspode, I will _not_ have my actions questioned by a mangy little mutt who was stupid enough to catch a disease that only pregnant sheep can get. Once they clean up that sorry excuse for a temple, they will find his ears and they will reattach themselves with no further harm to that stupid ass of a high priest!"

Snape brooded by Pseudopolis Yard as Gaspode grumbled along at his heels. They had been walking for hours, and Snape's mood—already unpleasant—was souring noticeably. No progress had been made in their search for people who might help him return to his own world, and he was starting to despair of ever returning.

_ Think of all the things those dunderheads will do to my classroom in my absence. Will there even _be_ a Hogwarts when I return, presuming that I can?_

As if picking up on Snape's dismal thoughts, an explosion tore through the Watch House building three houses away.

Miraculously, the building remained intact, save for a hole punched through the roof. The cause of that hole was shortly revealed to Snape when a Dwarf—for it could hardly be anything else—landed smoking at his feet. The dwarf picked himself up and promptly fell to the ground again, rolling to extinguish a small fire that had ignited on his sleeve.

"That was a close one," he grumbled. "Note to self: _Never_ add powdered troll tooth to tincture of wahooni when said troll has recently been taking Slab. Really, I'm getting tired of all this flying experience." He looked up and saw the mildly stunned Potions Master staring at him.

"Well, that's what caused it!" he said, defensively. "No other explanation. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll see if my laboratory is salvageable. Vimes'll go spare if I've wrecked it again…oh, hello, Gaspode. Who's your friend?"

"Well, I ain't sure if he's a friend, but this 'ere's Severus Snape. 'E's stayin' at Unseen University for awhile until he gets back to 'is own world."

The dwarf looked up at Snape again. "You're from the Dungeon Dimensions?"

Snape stifled a snicker. "Ah…not precisely. I'm a wizard."

The dwarf rolled his eyes. "Say no more. You don't get good wizards these days. My dad used to tell me stories about the old-time wizards and the wars they got up to. These days, they're a bunch of fat old conjurors who couldn't find their own arses with an atlas. Not like alchemists. We may blow things up, but at least we don't tear holes in the fabric of reality."

"I believe I shall let that comment pass for the moment," said Snape, the temperature of his voice dropping noticeably. Then he did a double-take. "You are an alchemist, then?" he asked, as calmly as he could muster. _Ah, the serendipity! Perhaps I shall be able to get home after all! An alchemist has a lab, and thanks to Albus, I'm perfectly at home in one of those…_

"Well, I was. Now I'm one of the lads—and ladies—in the Watch. My job is using evidence at the scene of a crime to determine if someone's guilty or not. In this case, I was trying to prove that Coalface the troll is guilty of selling Slab to troll children. He was in a fight with Sergeant Detritus during a raid and some of his teeth got knocked out. Unfortunately, Commander Vimes insists on more proof than just the suspect's presence when we caught him, in case the Patrician isn't satisfied with that. I was able to document the reaction between the powdered tooth of a troll who hadn't had any contact with Slab—that'd be Detritus—and essence of wahooni, a rather large yellowish fruit that smells slightly of earwax. Unfortunately, the combination of troll diamond, Slab and wahooni is incredibly volatile, as I have just discovered. I'm afraid I shan't be able to demonstrate it in front of anyone else. Alchemists have discovered over the years how to protect ourselves against explosions, but I can't make enough of the salve for everybody."

"Then perhaps you must find another way to demonstrate the difference," Snape sneered. "Have you a lab anymore?"

The dwarf's face grew worried behind his beard. "Er…I may. The beakers'll be all smashed up, though."

"I can fix them. Not all wizards are 'fat old conjurors who couldn't find their arses with an atlas'. Lead on, master dwarf."

The dwarf looked up at him suspiciously. "And why should I trust you?"

"Because," Snape drawled, "I am a Potions Master in both senses of the word, a teacher and an expert. It is clear that your incompetence has nearly caused a disaster, and professional etiquette demands that I put things right."

Gaspode muttered to the dwarf, "'E's a little on the prickly side, Corporal Littlebottom. It's just the way 'e is. 'E probably don't mean to offend you, miss."

"Oh, yes I do," Snape smirked. "However, I assure you that my assistance will be valuable—provided, of course, that you aid me with a task with which I am currently having trouble."

"What's that?" Littlebottom asked, slightly intrigued.

"Getting home," Snape said, bluntly. "I've searched the entire city and I've found buggerall to do with finding a way back. You may be my last chance, much as it pains me to say so."

Littlebottom thought for a moment. "Come with me, then, Severus."

"You may call me Snape," Snape hissed.

"Whatever," she snapped. "Come on."

"What about me?" whined Gaspode, unhappy at being left behind once again.

"Get back to the University. I trust you know the way."

A/N:

The chapter title is a deliberate play on the name of a great jig composed by Blair Douglas, "Nelson Mandela's Welcome to the City of Glasgow". I haven't been able to track down a full MIDI or mp3 of the tune for you to listen to, but a sample of the first three parts (about 50 seconds long) can be found at http:www. scotlandcreates. com/ aros/ music. htm under "A Summer In Skye" (the fourth one down).

According to Pratchett's book Men At Arms, Gaspode has "Licky End", a disease which (as Snape sneers) only occurs in pregnant sheep. I don't know if it's actually a disease in real life; however, it exists on the Discworld, at least.

I should probably also explain a few things about Corporal Littlebottom. Cheery Littlebottom, as she is called, is a former member of the Alchemists' Guild; she was expelled when she blew up the Guild Council. The reason for the switch from "he" to "she" after Gaspode calls her "miss" is, quite honestly, because female Discworld dwarfs are (as in Tolkien) indistinguishable from the males. In fact, the more traditional dwarfs have no female pronouns. As Pratchett points out, it therefore follows that the courtship of dwarfs is an extremely tactful process. Cheery (also known as Cheri at the end of "Feet of Clay", her first appearance) was the first dwarf to openly admit to being female; she was the first dwarf to wear a skirt (a rather hard leather one, in fact), and experimented with makeup, nail polish, earrings, and welding high heels onto her boots. Even so, she kept her beard and helmet. She has made many of the older dwarfs extremely angry; however, many of the younger female dwarfs have been following in her footsteps.

By the way, "Slab" is a drug on the Discworld. It's produced by and for trolls, and Sergeant Detritus has been organizing a campaign against it. The poster reads, "Slab: jus' say 'AarghaarghpleeassennononoUGH'"

**P.S.** **black furry plot point** Vimes may show up in the next chapter. Actually, he originally made an appearance in this chapter; however, he just wasn't co-operating with me and the resulting Vimes was so out of character that I might as well have re-named him.

Oh, and about the SS/OC thing—I agree that Snape having a love interest is definitely out of character, given that he is to say the least a very unpleasant person—but when the two interact I try to keep him as in-character as possible, though I must admit it's sometimes a bit of a stretch. This story, as I think I've pointed out before, is actually a sequel; in the original story, "Sing a Song of Hogwarts", I hadn't exactly planned for Geillis and Snape to fall in love. (Actually, it annoyed the heck out of me that it happened; I wasted a considerable amount of energy trying to write the story so that they were just two highly unlikely friends and finally somewhere around the last chapter I just gave up.) But given that the story ended that way, I figure that I might as well work with what I already have. If I'm going to continue with stories containing Geillis, it appears that the relationship (such as it is/will probably be) will definitely have its rough points. In any case, she does serve at least one purpose in this story—she goes looking for him and (eventually) brings him back home so he can be his usual snarky self in his natural habitat—so I hope that the highly unlikely occurrence of Snape In Love is forgivable in this context. Besides, the whole ridiculous scenario has given me a few rather irritating ideas that could be fun to exercise (and therefore _exorcise_). This _is_ just all in fun, after all. )

However, I do promise that in my stories which contain him, Snape's hair will always be greasy, his skin always sallow, his teeth always bad, and his character as true to canon as I can make it while still writing the scenarios into which (despite my resistance) my highly bizarre mind seems set on placing him.

**Additional Note, May 21, 2005:** Okay, I know I haven't updated in a very long time; school kept me away (it was my final year of a four-year B.A. in English, so it was understandably kind of busy) and then my blasted computer decided it had had enough and wasn't going to work anymore. I lost my most recent notes and have been trying to reconstruct them ever since, as well as the progress I had made in writing my current works in progress. Everything--including this story--will eventually be finished, but until my laptop comes in (I've borrowed my brother's to type this out) I won't be able to update for real for awhile yet.


End file.
